


go in that ring and knock 'em out (or you better not come out)

by lunasasylum



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Hell In A Cell, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't like Ronda Rousey, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Ambreigns, Minor Rolleigns, Minor Violence, Oops, Reader loves her boys, Self-Indulgent, This Is Really For Me, Why Did I Write This?, WrestleMania, Wrestling, the shield - Freeform, things get kinda intense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-08 07:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasasylum/pseuds/lunasasylum
Summary: you owed Mickie James everything// or Mickie James wants you to retire her, and you're not sure if you can





	go in that ring and knock 'em out (or you better not come out)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it's 1 in the morning, so I really didn't proof this thing

You owed Mickie James everything. 

Every win, every success, every good thing that you had belonged in part to Mickie James. She trained you from the very beginning. Ever since she saw you practicing in some ring in some town in the middle of what felt like nowhere and took you under her wing, she didn't let you go. She saw you straight to the top.

Even when creative turned you against her and exploited your relationship, you made sure that she knew that you loved her. You traveled with her, slept in the same room, you spent almost all of your time together.

So, when she won the Raw Women's Championship off of Nia Jax, it took everything you had to stay backstage and not run out and celebrate with her. The smile on her face when she hugged you afterwards was enough. 

Her comeback had been rocky to start with, but she finally got what she was vying after and you were so proud of her. Every week after that she came back and defended her belt with vigor and enthusiasm, and the crowd loved it. Mickie always knew how to give a great match. She was back on top after what felt like forever. 

Which is why when she sat you down and told you that she was retiring, your stomach dropped into your feet.

"What?" You exclaimed, jumping onto your feet. "What the hell, Mickie? You just got the belt! You just won, you're back! Where in the hell are you going?"

She shrugged and looked around the hotel room. "It's my time now. I've got a kid and a husband waiting for me at home, this road life, the traveling, it's just not for me anymore."

You looked back at her with confusion on your face. "Bullshit! I call bullshit, James! You've been doing this for years, you're the best on the roster, you're gonna be a Hall of Famer!"

"I miss my kid, darlin'. I wanna watch him grow up, I don't want him to see me through crappy hotel wifi and a TV screen every week. I wanna be there for his birthday, and first days of school, and Christmases. I'm so damn tired of missing Christmas."

Her voice was sincere and raw. You could feel tears gathering in your eyes and you blinked them away then looked out the window. "I don't want you to go."

"It's time for me to move on, I wanna focus on being a mom." Mickie was too honest for you to ignore and when you heard her cough, you knew she was crying to. "I came back because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. I was more than Trish Stratus' opponent or a washed up Diva from an era long forgotten. I wanted to create something."

Her voice came closer and you wiped your wet cheeks with the back of your hand so you could face her. "What?"

"A legacy. And I did. She's standing right here in front of me. The next Raw Women's Champion." Her smile grew as she looked at you. "You work harder than anyone I know. I mean handicap matches, and battle royals, and that Hell in a Cell match!"

That Hell in a Cell match is when fans started calling you 'crazier than Dean Ambrose'. 

"You won a handicap match against the Riott Squad and still tagged with me to main event Raw last week. I've never met anyone like you."

Tears streamed freely, and how could you help it with Mickie looking at you like that?

"Shut up." You whispered back.

"I'm serious."

A beat passed as wiped at your eyes again, and smiled at Mickie. "Thank you."

"So, I need you to do something for me."

It was the first time she had ever said that to you. Even last week on Raw, you had to beg her to let you tag with her. Mickie never asked you for anything in return. She was a firm believer in giving, even if you don't get anything in return.

"Anything. Name it." You declared freely.

She stepped away and faced the door before turning back to look at you. "Wrestlemania."

"It's in like 3 months, what about it?"

Sitting on the couch in the room, Mickie patted the spot next to her and waited for you to come. Once you took your seat, she ran her hands through her hair and cleared her throat.

"You're going to be my opponent at Wrestlemania." Just as you opened your mouth to argue against, as you naturally did when being handed anything, Mickie shushed. "Wait. Listen. Over the next three months, creative will build us a feud that will come to head a Wrestlemania. Master v. Protege. Old School v. New School. Generational battle kind of thing."

"Passing the torch." You murmured.

Mickie nodded, "Exactly."

"And, I told them that I was retiring. Everyone knew that I was ready to leave, it wasn't a big secret. But, as part of the contract and a parting gift, I wanted my last match to be with you. The woman I've taught everything to, the one who I think deserves it most." Mickie picked up the belt sitting on her desk and ran her fingers over the large 'W'.

Wiping her eyes, she continued to look down at the belt. "People always said that nobody could tell a wrestler when to retire, only they would know. And it's true, 'Taker's been around for 30 years now, Trish left before him. I'm ready to go now, I'm really ready to hang up the boots and step out of the ring. And, when I do. I want you to be there."

You knew your eyes were red and puffy at this point as you were coughing and sobbing as she spoke to you. "Really?"

"Really." Mickie laughed still tracing her fingers over the belt. "I've already talked to creative, Trish is gonna be the special referee, I only want the people that love me in that ring. I was Trish's opponent for her last match on Raw and I remember feeling her tears hit my shoulder as she pinned me. She had run her race and got the ending she wanted. This is the ending I want."

Hiccups started pouring out as you attempted to stop crying and nod at her.

Mickie chuckled and tapped your shoulder. "Go find your boys, I know you need them right now. Go tell them what a horribly, unfair person I am for making your Wrestlemania moment the last match of my career. Go. It's okay."

As soon as she finished speaking you were on your feet and out the door. You knew where their room was, it wasn't far from yours. It really never was. Tears started to blur your eyes on your way there and you knew explaining this would be a mess. Raising a weak fist to knock, you rapped on the door, hoping they weren't sleeping.

When a confused Dean opened the door, you pushed onto him, crying profusely. 

"Wass wrong?" His voice was thick with sleep but he still wrapped an arm around as he pulled you inside.

You continued crying as Roman turned on the light and Seth groaned. "What's going on?"

Pulling you into his lap, Dean shrugged and held you while petting your hair. They didn't push you for answers immediately, they simply let you cry in silence before gathering yourself enough to explain your situation. Tears were streaming down your red cheeks when you told them about Wrestlemania and Mickie's last match. A hotness began to build up in your throat and you felt like you might vomit. 

"She's my-my mentor and my best friend. How am I supposed to ju-just put her away?" You managed to choke your way through the last of your words while Dean stroked your hair.

A heavy hand feel on your back, and you knew by size and thickness it was Roman. "Sounds to me like she's been planning this for quite sometime, baby girl. Wrestlemania matches don't just happen. This is something she really wants, and she really wants you to do it."

You weren't crying as hard anymore, but thinking about Mickie planning her exit broke your heart. She was clear in what she wanted, and how she wanted it. A Wrestlemania match wasn't easy to get, and even though you've been around for a year, you knew didn't deserve it.

And the overwhelming sadness slowly burned into anger. Mickie was wrong. She was usually right, but this time, she's so unbelievably wrong. Getting off Dean, you balled your fists. "What the hell? How dare she make me put her away? What the hell, I'm not gonna retire her. She's my coach and my training partner, and my best friend. She's so goddamn inconsiderate, everything has to Mickie's way, how Mickie wants it, because she's Mickie freakin' James."

Running a frustrated hand through your hair, you shook your head. "Well, no. I'm not letting her leave." Looking up at Roman who stared back at you in sympathy, Seth who frowned at you, and Dean who got to his feet to touch you. "No, don't! I'm not doing it."

It was a simple solution. She wanted her last match to be with the woman she trained with, and if you said no, she wouldn't retire. She'd have to stay until you were ready for her to go. 

"Then she'll walk in front of the Monday Night Raw crowd, announce her retirement, vacate the title, and just walk out." Seth reasoned clearly. The look you gave him was just this side of annoyed and he could tell. "Mickie's ready to go, whether we like it or not."

Throwing up your hands, you yelled back, "And I'm just supposed to lay down and let the only person who's ever given a damn about me walk away?!" Seth flinched at your tone, and an apology was on your tongue when Dean spoke up.

"Babe, she's not the only person who cares about you. But, she's probably the first. You know Mickie better than anyone else in the locker room. If you don't get in that ring with her, you'll never get a chance to do it over."

* * *

 

Monday Night Raw felt more like home than your old apartment ever did. Stepping into the ring brought you a certain rush that nothing else ever did. Lacing up your boots, pulling your hair into a ponytail, and pulling on your ring shirt made you smile. Honestly, you never felt more at peace than when you were in the ring.

You were born alone, raised by the ghost of your father and a mother whose best just never seemed to be good enough. You were no stranger to loss. Losing was just as natural as winning. But, so was fighting.

It was unbridled, and threaded with anger. You weren't the strongest, but you were always the most resilient. The hungriest. You fought for your life, you fought to do more than win. With each fight you proved to yourself how much you could withstand.

When Mickie found you, you were taping up your bleeding knuckles after a fight. She saw something in you that nobody else had seen before, and to this day you still didn't know what it was. Mickie took you on the road and trained you, fought with you and for you. She told everyone that there was too much talent in you to be wasted and put her career and her reputation on the line for you. Mickie wasn't a betting woman, yet she always said she'd put her money on you.

Naturally, you were charismatic. It was only honed by all the years of lying and being lied to. So, delivering a promo was no hard feat for you. 

But, something unexpected happened. The fans took to you almost instantly. They liked you in the ring, they screamed when you came out, booed whenever they felt you were being cheated. The crowd's passion for you matched their dedication to seeing you win. Of course, you rose through the ranks quickly, and the attention was startling. Your matches were brutal but genuine. The emotions were honest and your desire to win easily resonated throughout the match. 

Your Raw debut was quiet, but it came at the perfect time. You didn't want anything to be handed to you. You started with the lower level women and worked your way up. Rejecting a match for SummerSlam was hard, but you knew you that it was too early. A pay-per-view after a handful of matches seemed too suspicious to happen on its own, so you kept your mid-level work. 

Once Survivor Series rolled around, you were more than willing to enter the triple threat match for a spot on the Raw Women's team. In the end, you pinned Ruby Riott for the second spot on the team, and the cheers afterwards felt deafening. 

Right after is when you met Roman, Seth, and Dean formally. You'd seen them backstage for months, but aside from Mickie, you generally kept to yourself. You weren't the most social person on the roster, no matter how much you faked it.

Dean came up behind you to congratulate you, but instead he startled you. He was entirely too quick and quiet for someone of his size. Fear and instinct kicked in when his heavy hand rested on your shoulder. You ended up on top of him with your fingers curled around his neck and your knee resting too close to his groin. The breath that was knocked out of him surprised you as Dean was almost twice your body weight. How you got him on the floor was a blur, so before you knew it Seth and Roman were behind you. 

Even though they came to lift you off him, Dean wheezed out for them not to touch you. Releasing him on your own, you apologized quickly for hurting him. However, Dean had already sized you up. He knew the movement was too fluid and swift to have never been done before. Your rough stories blended together almost scarily and you two became quick friends. But, being friends with one, meant being friends with all of them. Roman and Seth were constants, a package deal. Three for the price of one. 

Despite the rocky beginnings, you were all close. You were often together when you weren't with Mickie. The touching came after many weeks of them learning the things that set you off. They knew to avoid sneaking up behind you or jumping out at you because the results were always unpleasant. But, a slow hand resting in between your (too) prominent shoulder blades became Seth's calling card once he knew how much tension you held there. Dean often ghosted a touch along the inside of your elbow, straight down to your wrists. 

Roman's took a bit longer. You tended to get worried when hands came around your more vulnerable spots. When he hugged you a hand always sat at the back of your neck, and you resisted the immediate urge to yank him by his hair to get his hands off of you. The touch was never undesired just slightly unsettling for someone of your background. But, he was patient with you. Once he was able to slide a hand under your hair to touch the bare skin of your neck, you two became comfortable enough to rest in that position.

Of course, there were rumors about the nature of your relationship with them, but you never listened. You guys just clicked, wherever that took you was uncharted for now.

A different feeling came around for Survivor Series, you were puking in between every promo and press meeting. You had never been nervous like this before. Your gut feeling was almost never wrong, so when your win at Survivor Series didn't quench the feeling, you knew it was something else. The phone call would come later that week that one of your friends from back home had died. 

You didn't cry, you weren't that close with anyone back home in the first place. But, you had spent too much time together for you to just brush it off. Grief turned out to be a freight train that hit you like nothing else. It didn't happen in stages like you'd heard about. Grief was the cement blocks on your feet and you had fallen into the ocean. Sometimes you were in so deep, it felt easier to just give in. 

Alcohol wasn't far and it wasn't hard to get. Your dad drank, your mom drank, your aunts drank, even your grandparents drank. Alcoholism ran in the family. Putting a bottle to your lips wasn't a foreign feeling for you. So, you did. You took the time they gave you to go to her funeral and stayed at some motel a few miles out of your home town and drank until you felt better. Then you drank until you couldn't feel anything and then you continued drinking. Cheap liquor swirled into your veins, coursing through your blood. It wasn't enough to kill you. but it was enough to wreck you. 

When the boys told Mickie that they hadn't heard from you since you left, they all went in search of you. They scoured your hometown and then every hotel and motel until they found you. Seth kicked down in the door to find you almost passed out in the dark of your room. All you remembered was the feeling of wet tears hitting your bare shoulder as you were picked up and taken to the hospital.

But, your body was a resilient thing. Almost too resilient. You healed fast and silently, your medical state was nearly immaculate in a week, but your mental state was another thing.

Recovering from the fall to what felt like a mental rock bottom wasn't easy. It took time. It took effort. And it took Mickie, who's natural mothering skills took care of you while you healed alone. It made you quiet and scared. You almost died. It wasn't one of the things that you could brush off. Dean yelled at you in hospital room. He called you selfish and inconsiderate. It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at you, but you heard something underneath that kept you from yelling back.

Fear. 

It had always been your life, just you all alone. If something happened to you, well it happened to you. You would've dealt with the consequences on your own. But, now it affected more than one person. What the hell would they have done if you had died in that hotel room? Dean asked. And it was then that you realized that you were worth more than just a warm body to a company. You mattered to people. The proof was in the way Roman, Seth, and Dean slept in the hospital room with you so you didn't wake up alone. It was in the way Mickie brought you food instead of letting you eat the crappy hospital food. It was in the way they kept your secret, the way the promised that it stayed between them.

Right after, when you thought you were okay, you came back to Raw, ready to fight. 

So, they gave you a triple threat with Ronda and Mickie. In a tables match, winner would become the number one contender for the women's championship.

To say the least, the match was grueling and long. Ronda's right hook was vicious and she rang your bell every chance she got, you could only dropkick her so many times. But, she was getting tired and your body was getting lethargic. In hindsight, having a tables match as your first match back wasn't the best idea. Mickie, however, was ready. Just as you and Ronda started to slow down, she picked up. You were struggling on the floor outside the ring when you watched Mickie heave Ronda through the table right to next you. 

You also knew that you weighed less than Ronda and it would've been much easier for her to put you through a table. And, maybe if you had moved the table a little to the left to make sure Ronda went through, well, she wouldn't know until after the match.

Mickie's arm slung around your shoulder as her music played and you laughed as you both walked up the ramp. You never really liked Ronda that much anyways.

Of course, when she watched the replay, Ronda saw you move the table and targeted you personally. Which was fine, you knew all about cause and effect, it was something you understood perfectly well. 

For weeks after that match, it was you against Ronda, directly and indirectly. Even when Mickie won the belt off of Nia Jax in a preliminary match at the Royal Rumble in January. Ronda however, still bitter about her loss at TLC, eliminated you at the Women's Royal Rumble. Now, she was getting on your nerves. It happened months ago, she needed to move on and her refusal to think about something other than how you ruined her shot at the belt began to annoy you.

She was running in and ruining all of your singles matches and you brushed it off because you knew that had you not interfered there was a good chance she'd be Raw Women's Champion right now, instead of Mickie. But, you weren't sorry. You didn't what you wanted because you wanted to do it. Mickie's successful defense against Alexa Bliss at Wrestlemania only made you feel better about moving the table. If anyone deserved the belt, it was Mickie. She was your best friend and you were proud of her. It was your right.

You could've apologized to Ronda, but you weren't sorry for what you did. And you made sure to tell her so, to her face.

Which probably wasn't the best thing to say, but you wouldn't allow yourself to be bullied for making a decision. Then came Money in the Bank in June. Your fingers were on the edge of the briefcase when Ronda came and pushed the ladder over the edge, throwing you off and out the ring. You wouldn't even be as pissed if she had actually won the fucking match, but she didn't, and she fractured three of your ribs in the process. 

You spent 7 weeks on injury and once you came back, you were beyond pissed. That was time that you would never have back. So, you sat at home fuming and training for months until you came back, angry and wanting revenge.

Roman, Seth, and Dean helped hide you the day you were cleared to come back to Raw. Ronda was finally going to get a taste of her own medicine. Then, in the middle of her match with Bayley for a title shot, you elbowed her in the back, allowing Bayley to pick up the win.

It turns out the audience loved you, regardless of what you did. When you came back with new gear, dyed hair, and a new style, they cheered you, and creative was nothing if not opportunistic. Once you came back, they told you that you and Rousey would settle your differences at Hell in a Cell in the beginning of October.

That was more than fine with you, Rousey needed to stop now. It had been almost a year since that TLC match, and she still hadn't won the belt. It was her fault, not yours.

In the weeks before the match, you prepared as much as you could. You even asked Roman and Seth about their HIAC matches, and all they told was that it was an endurance match, being thrown into the steel of the cell wasn't something you immediately got up from. They said to equally distribute your time and energy. Your goal isn't to hurt her, it's to pin her and save your body. 

When you asked Dean, he took you away and sat you down. Then he calmly explained how he almost killed Seth during their Hell in a Cell match. He threw Seth off the side, and then dragged him back into the fight. Once he was locked inside, however, his mindset changed. He wanted to win, but he also wanted to get out. With your similar backgrounds, he told you to be careful to keep yourself focused on winning and leaving.

To make things worse, they added another stipulation. Last Woman Standing. It was the first time ever to be done, and it guaranteed a grueling match. Suddenly, Roman and Seth's advice became obsolete. Everyone's advice became obsolete.

You trained harder than you ever have in your life, it was your first singles match in a pay-per-view, and you were main eventing. There was too much hype around this match for it to be in the pre-show or even just a preliminary match. The second it was announced, it was trending everywhere for days, the sales skyrocketed for your merchandise and hers. Then HIAC sold out in record time, WWE subscriptions went up, nobody could stop talking about the match.

Oddly, you weren't nervous when the day came. You were more prepared than you ever had been. Sitting with Mickie before her title defense against Bayley that night, you confessed that you felt too confident. She laughed and brushed it off, telling you that you were just excited. You found Roman before his title defense and pressed an awkward but quick kiss to his forehead. He smiled and ruffled your hair before running out. Seth hugged you while you watched Roman fight, he stood solid against you, allowing you to relax your weight against his front and ignore the people staring next to you.

It was Dean who reminded you though. Keep your cool, he whispered, get in and get out.

When your music hit, you ran out to loud cheers of the crowd, smiling the twisted smile you've had since you came back, you laughed when you stepped in the ring. Turning in a slow circle, you looked around at the biggest crowd you'd seen in your career. 

You didn't even listen when Ronda came out, too entranced by the sound of yelling ringing in your bones. 

Ronda looked ready and slightly pissed, but so were you. They lowered the cell around the ring, and you stared back at Ronda.

Once the bell rang, you were on her. Or maybe she was on you. The point was you were on each other. Easily, Ronda was a lot stronger than you, she had you in power and size. Everyone could tell when she threw you over the top rope into the steel of the cell. Still, you knew she didn't want it as much as you. Nobody wanted this as much as you.

So you got back to your feet and rolled into the ring, you drop kicked her and started to get creative. Ronda had style but you were raw, and that's what the crowd loved about you. It felt like they were fighting with you. Banging her head against the turnbuckles, giving her suplex after suplex, even hoisting over your shoulders into a Samoan drop. You drew over and over from the well. You gave her a sloppy DDT and she still got up.

That's when you rolled under the ring and brought out a steel chair and a kendo stick.

It was brutal, but it worked.

For a while.

Then she took the chair against your ribs and you coughed out. You barely even caught your breath when she set up a table. She had you locked on the top rope when you dropped your weight and then suplexed her back on to the table. Both of you went through even though Ronda caught most of the impact.

But, she got up and so did you. Waiting until she got on the edge of the ring, you sucked in a breath and speared her. Just like Roman taught you, shoulders down, push off with your legs. Your spear was good, good enough to push her straight through the cell.

You groaned and coughed, and rolled. The medics quickly rushed in as the audience got even louder. Doctors filled your vision, white shirts, and badges took over your sight.

In the corner of your eye you saw Ronda pulling herself up on the cell and you refused to lose so you grabbed the barricade and hauled yourself up. Your body ached, your lungs burned, there were bruises forming on your ribs and back from where Ronda beat you with the chair.

Staring each other down, she made it clear she wasn't ready to give in and neither were you. You glanced to the top of the cage and then back at Ronda. The scramble to the top was rough and almost ended the match. Your fingers slipped multiple times while you climbed and simultaneously tried to throw Ronda off of it. 

Funnily, you only remembered your intense and startling fear of heights once you reached the top. Reminding yourself to look at Ronda, you gestured and screamed at her.

_Come at me, bitch._

Immediately she took her fist to your cheek and you took a knee to her stomach. She collapsed and once you got on top of her, you banged her head against the fencing but she rolled you up. Separating your arm, she locked in her finisher.

The arm bar. Simply, it's quick submission move. But, you knew if she held this long enough, the pain in your arm would be enough to keep you down. Your right arm was obviously your dominant arm and ignoring the torture she was putting you through would be impossible.

Hypothetically, there's no way to get out of Ronda's arm bar. But once it was locked in, something changed in you. Her leg across your throat was cutting off your breathing.

The pain in your arm tingled in the rest of your body and the flashbacks came. You were immediately taken back to the fights back home, on the streets. Fighting for food or a place to stay for the night, always fighting. 

Ronda was an UFC fighter, she had the skill, she had the style. She had the experience. 

But, you were a natural born street fighter, raised by a street fighter, you trained next to street fighters before Mickie got you. There was no amount of 'real' training in the world that could take that out of you. You had the raw need to win. You had the hunger and anger to pull through. 

The stinging in your arm brought you back to your first street fight. It was a literal fight for your life, if you lost, you would've died. The situation felt too similar now. Maybe you wouldn't die, but like any other fighter, like the fighter who raised you, you were too prideful to submit.

They always said to go in the ring and knock them out or don't come out. You never submitted in your career, not once. Not to the Banks Statement, not the Sharpshooter, not the Figure Eight. You found your way to the ropes, you twisted and flipped and wiggled until you got out. 

Digging your fingers into Ronda's ankle, you clawed and elbowed against her leg until her hold loosened up and she let you go. That should've been enough for you, you should've just hit your finisher and put her down, but you didn't. You unleashed everything you knew, every move you'd ever learned or even seen. Shades of every wrestler before you, male and female came out. A tribute to every wrestler you knew before.

There was Sweet Chin Music, Dirty Deeds, Curb Stomps, and a Rack Attack. You balanced yourself enough to hit a Mickie DDT. Hauling her up, you were even able to angle your feet into a good enough position to push off the supports that lowered the cage to hit a Stratusfaction. 

For good measure, you kicked her in the ribs before pulling her to her feet at the edge of the cage.

The pure fear in her eyes was something you recognized as you held her by her throat. Something in you told you to pull back, said that if you crossed this line pieces of you would never return. But you didn't listen. You couldn't listen.

You were fighting to win. To put her down. To be the last woman standing.

You knew what you were risking when you set her up. You knew what could happen, a fall from this height could be career ending. Hell, it could be life ending, but that didn't stop you. Lifting her over your shoulders, you jumped off the edge of the cell in a variation of a Samoan Drop.

The fall through the table was too long and painful. You remembered to tuck your head against Ronda's body to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But, that didn't stop the rest of your body from plunging through the wood of the announce tables. 

The impact shocked you more than anything thing else. Obviously, you'd been put through a table before, but never from over 25 feet in the air. Your body curled and seized, and screamed out at you for putting yourself through so much pain. Coughing, you rolled. The first thing that came to your mind was the referee, checking to make sure you were okay. The medics circled both you and Ronda, but you didn't have to look at Ronda as you shoved them away.

Clawing at the barricade once more, you listened as he counted.

Last woman standing.

Your fingernails dug into the material of the barricade and you put your faith into your arms as you could barely feel your feet. Heaving up, you held on to the barricade, wincing as you watched Ronda lay prone on the ground, medics standing around her.

The referee counted.

1, The stinging in your legs intensified.

2, You could feel your calves threatening to give out underneath you.

3, There were chips of wood digging into your arms and shoulder blades.

4, Blood was coming from your lip where Ronda kicked you in the face while locking in the arm bar.

5, An intense burning shot through your spine and you bit your lip to keep from crying out loud.

6, Your head was pounding, throbbing, aching, and you could barely see.

7, The crowd screamed around you, you had an entire arena standing on their feet.

8, Ronda rolled but stayed on the ground, breathing heavily.

9, You were fighting for your life.

10, Last woman standing.

You were the last woman standing. 

Cheers of your name erupted, chants of your name filled your ears and ricocheted in your bones. You stumbled away and latched onto the steel of the cell for support. Eventually, you felt the strength of your legs give in, so you clung to the cell as your vision went in and out. Pushing the medics away once more, you continued to try and walk away. Letting go of the cell, you stood up straight and immediately felt your knees buckle. You braced yourself for the feel of the mat underneath your body but instead you were supported.

Looking to your left and right, you saw Dean and Mickie on each arm, holding you up. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you attempted to hold yourself up and alleviate some of the weight.

A rough whisper curled in your ear, telling you to let it go. You released your tension as they took you up the ramp and exhaled as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

When you woke up again, you were laying on the medics table in the back, three dark figures stood around your bed, and you felt a heavy weight against the side of you. You closed your eyes once more, the lights becoming too much for your eyes. The headache that you were fighting after being thrown against the cell earlier came back with a vengeance and clouded your vision.

Swallowing thickly you asked if they could turn off the lights. The lights dimmed and you shut your eyes.

"What happened out there, Kitten?" You couldn't identify who the voice was, everything sounded muffled in your ears. Your head was swimming and your limbs felt heavy, like you were underwater.

Raising your hand you waved it off. "Juss' anotha' fight." You grumbled back, your tongue barely cooperated when you heard a scoff come from the back.

"Didn't look like just a fight. Looks like you just almost died." Still unable to place the voice, but you were always prepared to fight back, regardless of the state you were in. Fighting was in your bones, even just arguing.

Trying to sit up, you quickly retorted. "Well, 's my body. Do what I damn well please wit' it." You kept slurring through some of words, but still spoke. Your tongue and brain seemed to be on two different pages."Won din't I?" 

A strong, gloved hand settles on your shoulder pushing you back down, but pulling yourself out of that 'kill or be killed' mindset wasn't easy, even through the thick haze of what was probably a concussion. Through the blackness, you roughly shoved the arm off and sat up. The movement hurt, but you balled your fists through the pain. Everything in your body rejected the pain and yelled at you to stop, but your instinct told you to get to fight again. "Don' fuckin' touch me." You growled as your whole body tensed, prepared to break something. Your words were sinking back into that 'other state'. 

It was a blackness that settled over you the first time you had to fight for your life. You shifted into something else, jumpy and anxious, ready to put anyone who touched you down. That girl was rough around the edges, that girl had no conscience, all she knew was surviving. All she knew was anger and hunger-being so damn hungry-and hate and her fists. That girl bled constantly, that girl would knock someone out without thinking about it. That girl had no friends or family, that girl was alone.

"Keep 'ya  damn hands off a' me." 

Pain richocheted through your body again and you felt it every where, like your nerves were on fire. Your hands, legs, shoulders, ribs, your spine, even your hair hurt. 

"Give me a second with her." A voice demanded and the heavy weight left your side and you heard the door open and close.

There was a heavy silence in the room as you struggled to bring yourself back. It was hard to pull yourself out of these states, pieces of you were always left in the blackness. There were certain pieces of you that you'd never get back.

"Princess." Only one person calls you 'princess', both ironically and seriously. 

You swallowed and tried to make your words clear. "Dean."

"Talk to me. What's going on in the big ol' brain of yours?" He asked slowly, keeping his movements slow enough for you to barely track them in the darkness. "What happened in there, huh?" His words weren't offensive or accusing, you could hear the genuine worry beneath them and you side.

"She was chokin' me. I thought I was dyin'." You coughed and the action burned your lungs but you still reached out for Dean in the dark. He took your hand and held it while you tried to ground yourself. "I just wanted to win. I just wanted to survive." He stroked the back of your hand while you spoke. "I'd would'a killed her if she got up again. I couldn't help it. Always fought. Always had ta' fight."

Dean sighed and climbed on to the bed with you. So, you tried to relaxed against him, sighing against the feeling of his warm body. "You just gotta cool off, Princess."

You shivered, starting to calm down. "I'm tryin'. I just can't turn it off like that." You still struggled even though you knew you were safe.

"You're gonna be alright."


End file.
